


Make Me a Fighter

by turps



Category: The Fosters (TV 2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-07-22
Packaged: 2017-12-21 00:47:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/893846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turps/pseuds/turps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Callie fights to survive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make Me a Fighter

**Author's Note:**

> A birthday story for Arsenicjade.
> 
> With thanks to egelantier for checking this over.
> 
> Warnings for slavery themes and mentions of injuries.

According to the mainframe, Callie’s a solo.

Not by choice -- her data chip states in cold facts that Callie’s family was killed years before, and that’s good, that’s _great_. No matter how much it hurts to live a half lie, Callie knows it’s the right thing to do. What she has to do to protect her kid brother.

Deals done and trades made, and Jude’s safe in the outlands. Or, as safe as he can be. Even if it is brutal out there, it’s better than here, and Callie hasn’t regretted her choice for a moment. 

It’s what she holds onto now, when her back feels like its breaking, and every movement makes her muscles burn from shoulders to feet. Still, Callie never stops mining, the pain now nothing compared to the agony of a swipe from the lash if she misses her target.

“Keep moving! Keep moving!”

A snap of sound, an impact of lash against skin, and someone further back on the rockface screams. Callie keeps moving and doesn’t look up.

~*~*~*~

“I don’t like it here. I want to go home.”

The young girl talking is new. Like everyone that comes through the main doors, she’s dressed in new solo clothes, at least, what are supposed to be new solo clothes, Callie knows for a fact that the too-large dress would have been stripped from a stiffening body at some point before. Bowl to her mouth, Callie drinks her broth, slowly, savouring each sip as she stares at the girl. Right now she’s clutching the hand of the guardian, fingers digging in as if flesh can push into metal -- but it can’t. Not like metal can dig into flesh, and Callie imagines the data chip buried deep in her chest.

Years now and it’s kept all of her secrets, the info hacked and changed for a price, and it’s a price Callie would pay all over again. She’d take any amount of humiliation and pain if it meant Jude’s existence was hidden away. Running her finger around the small bowl, she sucks the remaining broth from off of her fingers and keeps watching the girl. She’s crying now, begging to go home as she’s abruptly pushed into the room and then left, the guardian never looking back as he marches away. 

“Shut up, kid. You’ll get us in trouble.”

It’s a harshly given command, but Callie can’t see who it came from. There’s too many people crammed into the room, bodies claiming too-small spaces and an exhaustion so apparent no one is making any attempt to actually move beyond eating.

“I want to go home,” the girl says again, making no attempt to wipe away the tears that run down her cheeks.

“You are home,” someone says then, and a bowl is thrown from the side of the room, landing at the girl’s feet. “Welcome to Solohell, where you get a place to sleep and a bowl to eat with.”

“And a state-supported death sentence,” Callie adds under her breath, and knows it’s what they’re all thinking -- all the other solo juveniles who’ve been placed in this hell-hole. 

But, at least Jude isn’t here. It’s what Callie tells herself as she curls up, still hungry, her bowl tucked under her arm. At least Jude is safe, and it’s that Callie hangs onto as she attempts to sleep against a backdrop of sobbing.

~*~*~*~

“Work faster!”

The guardian is almost two groups away, but Callie still picks up the pace. Ignoring the blood that trickles over her fingers, she pries free more ore, carefully placing it in the bucket that’s close to her side. Almost a morning of work and she’s nearly got it a third full, which is nowhere near enough. Callie has to fill at least a bucket a day, it’s her fee, what she has to pay for her food and bowl, the dress she’s wearing and the room she’s allowed to sleep in. 

Rags, slop and a hard floor. Sometimes Callie wants to scream at the injustice, that people think this is okay. That the system can brag about taking care of the solos when all that means is you die slowly while working instead of being thrown to the outlands. 

“Faster!”

The guardian is much closer. Callie can feel its footsteps, a deep thud as she takes in the glint of silver, a seam of ore just under the surface. Picking up her hammer, Callie brings it down sharply, and starts to claw at the pieces of smashed rock.

“Too slow. Too slow!”

Callie tries to relax, knowing what’s coming even before she hears the swish of the lash -- it doesn’t help. It never does. 

It feels like her whole body is burning from the inside when the lash wraps around Callie’s leg, the spines digging in instantly as electricity flows freely. Screaming, Callie falls on her front, her face and chest scraping against the rock as her whole body convulses until she’s left panting and weak, her dress soaked in her own urine. 

“Get up and work faster.”

The guardian pulls back the lash, the spines pulling through flesh and Caliie pushes back tears. They can make her scream, but they can’t make her cry. That’s Callie’s emotion to keep, and she rolls onto her side, shaking as she pushes herself up onto her knees.

“Here.” The worker to Callie’s left keeps looking forward, pulling at ore with one hand while using the other to hand Callie her hammer. As gestures go it’s a tiny kindness, but automatically, Callie bristles, not wanting to be singled out, even in this small way.

On her knees, she pulls in a deep breath and lets it out slowly before taking the hammer, her whole body aching as she moves to claw at the ore. 

“Tonight. If you want to take a chance stay next to the door.”

Deliberately, Callie doesn’t look to the left. She doesn’t know the boy that is talking -- she doesn’t _want_ to know him. Relationships and friendships are only things to be exploited and the thing that he’s suggesting can only mean certain death.

“Don’t forget,” the boy says, and this time, Callie does look to the side, seeing how his hands shake as he hammers, the way his expression is blank, like already he’s ready for death. 

“Why me?” Callie knows she shouldn’t care, that there’s nothing good that can come from talking right now. But, somehow she can’t help the question slipping out, needing to know why this stranger would risk sharing info. 

“You never cry,” the boy says, and glances down at the puddle of piss and blood that’s already seeping into the cracks of the rock floor. “You never give them that. They haven’t broke you.”

Callie thinks of the chip in her chest, the brother she loves so much she sent him away, and says, “They never will.”

“That’s why,” the boy says, and starts to hammer again.

~*~*~*~

That night, Callie sleeps close to the door. So doesn’t intend to, even while accepting her scoop full of broth she intends to go back to her usual spot at the back of the room. But somehow she finds herself changing direction mid-step. Hands clasping her bowl, Callie finds a spot close to the wall, scowling until a younger girl shifts over slightly, giving Callie space to sit down.

Off her feet for the first time that day, Callie sits penned in by bodies on all sides, barely able to move as she takes a sip of her broth. As usual it’s cold, a greasy scum on the surface, but still, it’s nourishment, and Callie drains every drop. 

“You came.” The boy from the rock wall has sat close to Callie. He takes a drink from his own bowl and stares into space, obviously drifting off to somewhere else than this room. Callie envies him, because as hard as she tries, she’s never fully able to leave her own head.

“Be ready,” the boy says, his voice low, and for a moment his full attention is pulled back and he looks directly at Callie as he repeats. “Don’t look back. Never look back.”

Callie nods, and then says, “Okay.”

~*~*~*~

The raid happens late in the night. Callie doesn’t know when, beyond the sirens for the start and the end of the day, no other means of telling the time are available, but most people in the room have been sleeping a long time. It’s so late that Callie herself is starting to believe she’s been tricked -- or else, taken in by someone else's mad dream. But then, there’s an explosion of sound, someone yelling, and the door to the room crashes open.

“Wyatt, if you’re in there get up and go, now! Anyone else, follow us if you want to be free.”

The woman yelling shoots behind her, a guardian staggering back at the force of the blast. Already, Callie’s scrambling to her feet, still clutching her bowl as she barges past the solos who are between her and the boy. Bending, she grabs hold of his arm and hauls him to his feet, yelling, “You’re Wyatt, right? Snap out of it.”

He has to be Wyatt, it’s the only reason Callie can think that this woman would be here now, relentless shooting at the guardian that tries to get itself upright. 

“Wyatt?” For a moment the woman stops shooting, her relief obvious as she sees Callie and Wyatt run for the door. “Follow me, Lena’s holding the main entrance. Anyone else, if you want to take a chance of freedom, you need to come now.”

No one else makes a move for the door. Callie wants to scream, to shout that there’s nothing for them here. But there’s no time, not when the woman fires a last shot at the guardian and then yells, ‘run!’

They do, Callie’s heart thumping and adrenaline flowing as they flee past the rock walls and out to the main building, somewhere Callie hasn’t seen since the day she was proceed years before. 

There’s another woman holding the main room, blasters held in each hand as she stands against a background of smoking screens and sparks exploding from consoles. When she sees them she says, “You found him.”

“I found him,” the first woman says, and then, “But only one extra.”

“Better than none.” The woman steps away from the consoles and says, “I got the discs, we need to go.”

Callie agrees, already she can hear the sound of the guardians, their synced footsteps getting closer as Callie runs once again -- and for the first time in forever, feels alive.

~*~*~*~

“So what, you just go around freeing solos?” Callie braces herself as the Jeep they’re travelling in hits another bump in the track. Or at least, what Callie hopes is a track, because right now, all she can see around them is darkness. “I can think of better ways to get my kicks.”

“It’s not about that.” One of the women looks back, Lena, the one from the main building. In this light her eyes look black, her hair starting to escape from under the tight cap that she’s wearing. “We take in people who need it, and find those that fall through the cracks.”

“Which is everyone.” The other woman -- Stef -- is driving, her hands tight on the wheel, despite how relaxed she looks on the surface. “So we help who we can. Look for kids who’ve gone missing. Like Wyatt.”

Callie looks to the side, seeing how Wyatt’s staring off into the middle distance, and suspects that, in this case, it’s a rescue that may have happened too late. “He’s your... what?”

“Son of someone who went missing,” Lena says, and reaches back so she can touch Wyatt’s knee. “We’ve been looking for him for a while, and when we did find him, none of our usual contacts were working in the compound.”

“You have people inside?” It makes sense, Wyatt had to get the initial message somehow, but knowing makes Callie angry, memories of beatings and relentless work pushing close. “And they didn’t help?”

“They helped as much as they could,” Lena says, calm in the face of Callie’s outburst of anger. “Being inside is a risk. If they get caught they’d be disposed of.”

Callie remembers the faces that go missing day-by-day. The friends she started making at first before realising how much losing them hurt. The official word was always, they’ve been claimed and gone onto a home, but Callie knows better. It’s impossible not to when you work close to the stench of a mass grave. It’s why, she understands what they’re saying, that the risk is there always, but at the same time, she can’t forgive the insider doing nothing to directly help. Not yet, anyway. 

Still twisted around in her seat, Lena pulls back her hand, her fingers tight in a fist, as if she’s battling not to touch Callie the same way she did Wyatt. “You should sleep, it’ll be a while before we get back.” 

Callie stares into the darkness, trying to understand the shadowy shapes that she’s seeing. “Where’s back?”

It’s Stef that answers, and she simply says, “Home.”

~*~*~*~

It turns out home is an old farmhouse tucked away miles from an actual road. Her whole body hurting, Callie rubs at her eyes and stares as they take a tight corner, and are confronted by a girl and a boy holding guns. Both hold them easily, even if the girl does look like she belongs in the city and not here, where the morning sun makes her squint and dust turns her clothes grey. 

Stef pulls the Jeep to a stop, holds up her hands and says, “The monkey dances at midnight.”

“And then sings at midday,” the girl says, lowering her gun. Safety on, she runs forward, and stands at the side of the Jeep, leaning so she rest her head against Lena’s shoulder. “Moms. You’re home.”

“And you found Wyatt,” the boy says, going to the other side of the Jeep. Giving Stef a quick hug he looks over at Callie. “You brought another solo.”

“We did.” Lena turns in her seat, smiling at Callie. “Jesus, Mariana, this is Callie. Callie, Jesus and Mariana, our son and daughter.”

Callie forces a small smile, but right now she’s too tired and hungry to think of introductions and new people. All she wants is a place to sleep and some water, maybe some broth if they’re willing to share. Looking toward the farmhouse she says, “Is that where I go to processed?”

“Oh sweetheart, no.” This time Lena does touch, a brief touch of her hand against Callie’s. “This is our home. It’s your home if you want to stay.”

Callie doesn’t answer. Not yet when she’s convinced that this has to be some kind of trick. Slowly, she stands, climbing out of the Jeep and almost stumbling when she steps to the ground. It feels like she’s been thrown into a situation that’s senseless. While Callie’s heard rumours of raids and solos broken out of the system, she’s always thought they’d end up in the Outlands. Not somewhere like this, a place that looks like an actual home with flowers in pots and laundry hanging limp on a line. 

“You live here.” Callie keeps looking around, expression set and trying not to show how much she craves a real home.

“We do, we all do,” Lena says. Climbing out of the Jeep, she stretches before draping her arm over Mariana’s shoulder, holding her close. “Our son too. He should be around somewhere.”

Jesus looks up from where he’s gathering blasters from out of the Jeep. Checking each one before picking them up, he tucks them under his arm, obviously comfortable handling something with so much power. “He’s been monitoring the airwaves. He’ll be sending the all clear.”

“I should go and de-brief,” Stef says, and jumps from the Jeep.

Instantly, Lena says, “I’ll come with you, we should both do it.”

“Maybe,” Step allows, and she steps closer to Lena, taking hold and squeezing her hand. “But I can do it alone. You go and get Callie and Wyatt settled. I’ll help Brandon try to get a message out to his mom.”

To Callie it sounds like they’re talking in code. But, what she does know is she needs to lie down and if possible, get something to drink. It’s why, when everyone starts for the house, Callie hesitates a moment and then follows.

~*~*~*~

It feels like Callie’s been sleeping forever when she finally wakes. Her throat dry and desperate to pee, she sits, the borrowed nightdress tangling around her legs as she gets off of the cot and heads for the bathroom. Trying to remember directions from the day before, she opens the door, careful not to wake Mariana, who’s sleeping on her stomach, one arm hanging off the side of her bed.

In the hallway the light is dim, but downstairs, Callie can see that it’s light, and that someone is already up. To the sound of faint footsteps and someone humming from what she thinks is the kitchen, Callie goes to the bathroom, luxuriating in being able to use an actual toilet, and then splash cold water onto her face. Refreshed, she cups her hands under the stream, and drinks until sated.

Hydrated, and still feeling clean from the previous day’s shower, Callie braces her hands on the side of the sink and looks in the mirror, seeing someone who was forced to grow up too soon and too fast. Every part of her body still aches, the joints of her fingers swollen and the ring of the lash around her calf red and raw, but that doesn’t matter. Callie can cope with that easily, especially when, right now Callie feels safe.

Safe enough, in fact, to leave the bathroom and go see who’s awake and downstairs. A last look in the mirror, and Callie goes back in the hallway, and then stops, unsure if it’s actually okay to go downstairs dressed as she is. While the nightdress she’s wearing has more material than the dress she’d worn previously, it still is only a nightdress, and Callie’s unsure if that’s okay to wear away from the bedroom.

The problem is, Callie’s got nothing else to change into. Her dress is gone from the foot of the cot, and even if it wasn’t, the last thing Callie would want is to pull on something that’s stiff with blood, piss and dirt. Which means, there’s only one thing to do.

Decision made and courage pulled tight, Callie makes for the stairs, her bare feet padding against the wooden floorboards as she looks to each side, taking in the doors that she passes. Most are tightly closed, but one is slightly open, and Callie catches sight of dark hair and blonde, two people who have to be Steff and Lena sleeping close together in the middle of a large bed. 

It’s a sight that helps Callie relax, that they feel so safe they can sleep without keeping watch, and also, obviously trust each other completely. That’s something Callie hasn’t seen for a long time, and she can’t help remembering times before, when she wasn’t a solo and Jude was a baby -- when Callie was loved and kept safe.

Holding onto those memories as she reaches the top of the stairs, Callie can hear the humming more clearly, along with the clink of things being moved and the scrape of a chair.

“You know, you can come down. I don’t bite,” someone says, and then a boy appears at the foot of the stairs. He looks around Callie’s age, except, instead of the way she holds herself tight, her emotions repressed at all times, he’s smiling, and brandishing a whisk in Callie’s direction. “I’m making breakfast. I hope you like pancakes.”

“I love pancakes,” at least, Callie used to love them, before her diet was changed and limited to bread and broth only. Even so, her mouth waters as she thinks about fluffy pancakes and blueberries that burst in your mouth. “Do they have blueberries? Or chocolate chips?”

“How about both?” The boy is still smiling, watching Callie as she walks down the stairs. “I’m Brandon. I was busy with messages when you arrived.”

“For Wyatt’s mom?” Callie follows Brandon into the kitchen, and sits when he indicates a pulled out chair at the head of a large table. One that, right now, is covered in stacks of plates and a huge bowl full of batter, one which Brendon pushes so it’s close to where Callie is sitting.

“Can you finish mixing that?” Brandon hands Callie the whisk and then takes the few steps to the stove, where a griddle pan is already set up and in place. Turning on the burner he adds, “Yeah, I was trying to contact his mom, but no luck yet. She’s gone underground somewhere.”

Callie pulls the whisk through the batter, and while she’s not afraid of being lashed for doing it wrong, she’s still careful not to slop over the side of the bowl. A few circles of the whisk, and she’s sure she’s doing this okay, enough that she can ask, “So what happens now?”

“To Wyatt?” Brandon turns to look at Callie over his shoulder. “He’ll stay here until we find her. We’ve got room.”

“We’ve got room for everyone who needs a place to stay and be safe.” Her footsteps almost silent, Lena enters the kitchen, a robe wrapped tight around her and hair a mass of messy curls. Hand covering her mouth, she yawns, then smiles at Brandon and Callie. “I heard you talking about pancakes.”

“Callie’s helping me,” Brandon says, waving away Callie’s protest when she tries to say all she did was pull a whisk through the batter. “We’re having chocolate chip and blueberry. Callie’s choice.”

“And it’s an excellent choice,” Lena says, briefly touching Callie’s shoulder as she heads for the fridge. “Do you want juice? We’ve got orange and apple.”

“Orange, please.” It’s an easy choice to make, and Callie tries not to stare as Lena fills a tall glass with juice and sets it next to Callie. 

“There’s more if you want it,” Lena says, and then looks up when there’s a loud thump from above. “I see mom’s woken Jesus. She threatened to pull him out of bed if he didn’t get up.”

“We’d better get these pancakes done, then,” Brandon says, and at his words, Callie realises the ‘we’ he means includes her, that so easily, she’s suddenly someone that helps with the breakfast, someone who, right now, belongs.

It’s a realisation that eases something deep in Callie’s chest, something that means, for the first time in years she can breathe easier, and think, that maybe, there is hope.

Taking the packet of chocolate chips that Lena hands over, Callie tips them into the batter, and looks down, eyes wet as she whisks.

She doesn’t know if she’ll stay here, or if this is just a place to rest for a while. But what Callie does know is, she’s surrounded by people who care and want to help for some reason. Which Callie still doesn’t get, but she’s going to give this a chance.

Whisking one-handed, Callie brings the other up to her chest, her fingers resting over the data chip that contains her half-lies.

Half lies that Callie will put right when she goes and finds Jude: and she will. 

That’s a promise Callie intends to keep.


End file.
